


set my heart alight

by azkabanter



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Firefighter AU, Multi, STAY TUNED TO FIND OUT - Freeform, all she knows is that they're called woods, clarke does not know who her saviour is, let's just say she assumes that whoever it is a dude, lexa is a firefighter, meanwhile is neville the cat alive or dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:13:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5402579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azkabanter/pseuds/azkabanter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(title is not final i am just rubbish with them in general)</p>
            </blockquote>





	set my heart alight

Fridays are best when you ignore plans in favour of hanging with your cat and watching Netflix. This is what Clarke knows to be true after giggling over the umpteenth episode of Parks and Rec watched that evening; even though she knows her friends are out drinking and having a great time without her, she can’t bring herself to care when she’s already taken off her bra and wiggled into her sweatpants. 

When Neville starts kneading and yowling at the sash window to her left, Clarke heaves herself from the couch, grumbling at the offending creature. 

 

“This wouldn’t be a problem if you had opposable thumbs. Open your own damn window, cat.”

 

As she pushes up the window pane, Neville chirps his thanks and slinks under the small gap his owner creates for him, disappearing down the fire escape and into the night. He’d be back soon, so Clarke would leave the window open in the meanwhile. She takes a moment to appreciate the soft breeze that carries the scent of the Chinese restaurant down the street and the clink of glasses a few doors away, the rumble of voices as the bar patrons enjoy their evening. It was early yet, but the week had been long, and Clarke was already tired. 

 

She turns to her bag, resting against the back of the couch where she’d dropped it as she’d come in earlier, fishing out the lighter. Humming softly to herself, she clicks it almost absentmindedly against the wick of the candles on her windowsill, watching with lidded eyes as the flame jumps happily and catches alight. She probably needs to replace the ones she has, but there was enough wax left to last a few evenings yet. 

 

“Bath time,” Clarke murmurs to herself, pulling her shirt up over her head decidedly. She walks to her bathroom in just her sweats, dropping her shirt in a heap somewhere near the window that holds the majority of the candles. They flicker happily and Clarke is content to leave them, pleased by the soft glow of light and the shadows that climb up the walls as a result. She lights more as she turns the faucet to fill her tub, listening to the thunder of water that drowns the click of the lighter. It’s strange, she thinks, that the light of candles can turn a dark room alive, remaining eerily silent and yet being oddly comforting as a result. 

 

With the tub full, Clarke pulls off her sweats and underwear and lowers herself into the water, sinking underneath to submerge herself fully for a moment before coming back up, pushing her hair back from her face and easing back with a sigh. Eyes still closed, she hums again, listening to the water lap against her bare skin and the distance sounds of the city outside as she soaks. 

 

The banging on the door is what wakes her. It actually sounds like someone is trying to break it down, and Clarke jolts awake suddenly and is disorientated, flaps and splashes for a second before she realises where she is: that she simply fell asleep in the bath and the worst thing about that was her skin shrivelling like a prune. 

 

“What the—,” and then she pulls herself up to standing, just as her bathroom door is kicked in, with a loud bang like a shot, a whoosh of heat, sizzling through the air, engulfing the room. A figure stands in the door frame, now just a frame, tall and strange and forbidding. Masked. It takes Clarke more than a second to realise what is occurring, before the person before her springs into movement. As soon as they step into the room and away from the door frame, the whole scene opens up to Clarke. The penny drops and her stomach lurches at the same time as she watches her living room blaze ahead of her, and she almost screams. But whatever attempts to claw it’s why up her throat is caught there, and all of a sudden it’s difficult to breathe. 

 

“—you move?”

 

Clarke startles and focusing away from the hypnotic flames, so big and so hot as they danced. She blurts:

 

“What?” 

 

Her question seems to rile the person, her rescuer, the firefighter, who tosses a sodden towel in the vague direction of Clarke’s naked self, expecting the blonde to catch it. She does (frankly surprising the both of them, Clarke thinks), and the action seems to snap her out of it. She wraps the towel around herself and secures it below her arms as best she can, feeling her cheeks burn in sympathy with the small inferno they would have to get past. She’s about to get out of the tub when there’s a yell from outside. A cracking noise. Clarke watches in sheer horror as her ceiling cracks up and crumbles, debris falling as the crew battle the blaze. 

 

All of a sudden, she is being lifted from the tub, up, over the person’s shoulder in the stereotypical manner and it happens so quickly you’d think she’d weigh next to nothing at all. Clarke barely has time to be offended at the assumption that she isn’t capable of walking out of her burning apartment before another part of the ceiling falls; she screws her eyes shut and grips as best she can to the rough material of her saviour’s uniform as she is carried to safety. Tries her best to ignore that she is naked but for the towel. In no time at all, she is outside. A second later she is placed on her feet in front of a waiting EMT, who glances over her, seemingly unconcerned by her state of undress and instead gives her a grin. 

 

“Let’s give you a look over,” the dark brunette medic flashes a light into her eye without warning, and Clarke jerks back. Looks over her shoulder to thank her saviour, only to find nothing. 

 

“Sorry,” she grins again, not looking sorry at all, but seems satisfied with Clarke’s reaction. “I have my kit bag in the van, you maybe wanna find a shirt? Some underwear?” 

 

The young woman leads her to the awaiting ambulance, unzipping a sport’s bag and pulling it open to show Clarke. She sits down, patting the space beside her. Clarke, grimacing, tightens the towel around herself and tucks it beneath her, sitting gingerly. The girl, Reyes, her badge reads, plops the bag on her knees. Peers at her. Runs her gaze over her again, and Clarke fights the urge to bite her lip at the scrutiny, knowing the medic is just doing her job. 

 

“How are you feeling, light headed? Nauseous? Sleepy?” 

 

Clarke shakes her head no to all the questions, allowing a rueful smile. “Nah, just dying of embarrassment, really,” she gestures to the plume of black smoke escaping from her top floor window. At least there was no one above her that could’ve been hurt. She can’t help but look for the firefighter that pulled her from the mini blaze, but it was kind of difficult when they all looked the same in their uniforms and helmets.

 

Reyes laughs but leans into her bare shoulder in a show of comfort. “Don’t worry, fire often looks worse than it actually is, in my experience,” she checks a few boxes on a chart as she speaks, giving her a thumbs up. All clear, save for the mortification. And one hell of an insurance claim.

 

Clarke nods, standing. “So, do you mind…?” 

 

“I’m Raven.” She stands, too and offers her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, pretty blonde who totally rocks a towel,” Raven grins and squeezes her hand, holding her tongue between her teeth, prompting. 

 

“Clarke.” She steps back into the van and turns around. Raven brings the doors forward, throwing her a wink. “See you in a minute,” Raven adds, shutting the doors. 

 

When Clarke opens the doors again, decked out in gym shorts and a shirt slightly too big for her, Raven is nowhere to be found. The fire seemed to be out, at least, but the burning smell hangs in the air, and Clarke knew that all her clothes would stink. She’d have to raid Octavia’s closet for the next few months. There were still some people milling around, and Clarke wonders for a minute what these people thought of her. If Neville—

 

“Oh my god.” 

 

Fear clutches at her and for a moment she feels purely hysterical. She walks forward, stumbles, barefoot, her eyes roving the road for a flash of orange. Neville is her baby. When she’d moved to the city to start fresh, Neville had been the little ginger fluff she’d met at the Humane Society with Octavia their second week there, and O had rolled her eyes in the corner while Clarke crooned baby names to him, begging her to let her bring him home. 

 

“Has anyone seen my cat?” 

 

Clarke feels tears well at the corner of her eyes and she calls out his name. She can’t see him any where, and aside from chilling out on the fire escape outside her window, Neville barely ventures anywhere but the apartment. He’s lazy and fat, he didn’t even run to meet her when she came in from work, but what cat would, really? Blindly, she makes to go into the building, intent on searching, but she her way is barred.

 

“Can’t let you go in there right now, ma’am.” It is, she thinks, the same guy to carry her from her home, away from the flames. He’s maybe six feet, but that’s all she knows; the cadence of his voice muffled by the breathing equipment and mask still strapped across his face. She squints at them, trying to decide whether it would be worth trying to slip past. The firefighter seems to read her expression well enough to step forward into Clarke’s personal space, forcing her backwards. And another step. 

 

“Stay by the ambulance, please. We need to keep the area clear until it’s been suitably ventilated.” 

 

Clarke shakes her head, her tears flowing freely now, imagining the worst. Neville could’ve been caught under one of the falling bits of ceiling, or asleep when the flames went up. Maybe he fell off the fire escape. She reaches out, gripping the shoulders of the person in front of her. 

 

“You don’t understand. My cat, he…,” Clarke closes her eyes and chokes on the sob in her throat, unable to finish her plea.

 

Thankfully, they seem to be receptive to tears. Whether actually moved or not, Clarke can’t tell, but the firefighter nods an understanding and gently lifts Clarke’s arms away, so that they are free to move. The gloved hands squeeze hers momentarily, and she watches them turn back to the building. 

 

“Wait by the ambulance. I’ll come find you.” Clarke nods and bites the urge to wish them to be safe; it would seem a bit hypocritical when she does actually want her to go in there and search for Neville. It’s not like the whole building was in danger of coming down. The fire was out, it was just a bit smoky now, that was all. He’d be fine. Clarke finds herself sitting in the backend of the ambulance again, just as Raven returns with another sports bag. 

 

“Hey you! One of the boys got you a bag together. Your phone is there, too.” Raven hands her the bag, shrugging apologetically. “They probably stink of smoke, but once they’re clean at least you’re good for a few days while your apartment airs out.” Clarke smiles, wipes her eyes and sniffs a little, thinking she might start crying again for a totally different reason. 

 

“Thanks, Raven.” She takes the bag and stands, giving the other girl a brief hug. She thinks it might've been awkward if Raven hadn’t squeezed and rocked them from side to side for a minute, like they’d known each other for years. It made it easier to like her. Raven hums and smiles as she looks at Clarke again, a note of seriousness in her tone as she addresses her: 

 

“I’m gonna tell you now, you should probably invest in some decent blinds. I thought it was decent common knowledge that candles and curtains do not mix, huh?” Without waiting for Clarke to respond, she reaches into her bag and plucks out Clarke’s phone. It lights up fine, so it works, and Raven hands it to her. 

 

“Unlock this phone so I can give you my number, okay?” Clarke tries her best to look mildly affronted, but she just ends up laughing at the other girl’s sheer forwardness. She thinks that Raven and Octavia would get on like a house on f—hm. A house that is definitely not on fire, actually. 

 

“Well, I’m sorry, Ms Reyes, we have only just met. You’ll have to buy me a drink if you wanna get in my pants.” 

 

Raven holds a hand to her chest, her offensive expression leagues better than what Clarke manages. 

 

“First of all, Clarke, that’s _doctor_ missus Reyes to you, and second of all, you’re already in _my_ pants, the whole first date is maybe null and void?” 

 

She takes the phone back when Clarke unlocks it, tapping her number into the blonde’s phone. Clarke takes it back, tapping it against her knee, leg jiggling. “You’re probably right. Still, I’ll definitely have to buy you a drink sometime, huh?” Clarke is more focused on the building in front of her at this point, though, mind back to her ginger baby fluffball. As if on cue, the fireman who stopped her from coming back to the apartment steps out, devoid of anything orange. Clarke stands up, tears starting fresh again.

 

“Nothing?” Clarke asks, and she suspects that they don’t actually hear her, but they shake their head no, anyway. The blonde tilts her head back and swallows. Let's be honest, Neville wouldn't cry over her. Cats weren't lovable creatures, and Neville wasn't really an exception.  Clarke takes a deep breath and instead opens her phone up again, tapping out a quick message to Octavia. 

 

_staying at linc’s tonight?_

 

She waits a beat for a response to buzz in her hand. 

 

_yeah. why? everything okay at home?_

 

Clarke almost laughs, but she fears she might cry again. 

 

_um. the apartment is a little overcooked right now, you could say_

 

_WHAT_

 

_are you okay????_

 

_clarke_

 

_seriously are you hurt_

 

Her phone buzzes again and again until it’s one continuous vibration: Octavia is calling her. 

 

“Hey, O,” Clarke answers with a sigh. 

 

“Clarke, babe, where are you? What’s happened? Are—,” 

 

“O, chill out for a sec, okay? I’m fine. The apartment isn’t safe right now. Too smoky.” She laughs, thinking about what Raven said. "We're gonna need to replace the curtains. And go easy on the candles." _And get the ceiling re-plastered_ , she adds mentally to herself. She figures that less is more at this point, though. 

 

Clarke focuses on the black plume rising, but, thankfully, dissipating into the night air more quickly than it was being produced at this point. 

 

“I’ll get Linc to drive us over to pick you up, okay? Have you eaten yet? We’ll get Chinese.” 

 

Clarke nods enthusiastically, and then realises that Octavia couldn't see her. “Sounds so good, O, thank Lincoln for me, yeah?” She laughs as she hears her roommate’s boyfriend shout a “no problem!” from the background of whatever bar they’re currently in and for the nth time tonight she’s almost crying. Who knew the potential to burn to a crisp and a potentially dead or injured cat  somewhere would make her so emotional. She hangs up the phone and turns back to Raven - the other one had disappeared, yet again. 

 

“Where’s…?”

 

“Woods? Yeah, the crew is headed back, now. We’re just about done. Do you have a place to stay tonight?” 

 

“My friends are swinging by to pick me up, but thanks.” 

 

“Want me to wait with you?” 

 

Even as Raven offers, her pager starts beeping, no doubt alerting her to the next crisis. Raven unclips it and glances at it, groaning.

 

“Ack, sorry babe, duty calls,” Raven bounces forward to hug her. 

 

Clarke is grateful for the comfort and marvels quietly at the woman’s ability to make a generally awkward situation the most normal thing in the world. Again, she is reminded of Octavia, and she almost asks the medic to wait so they could meet. But she rubs the brunette’s arm and nods, watching her climb into the truck, waving her bye, flinching at the wail of the siren as she rumbles away. Not two minutes later, Clarke jumps again to the sound of a honking horn. 

 

“Get in loser, we’re going shopping!” 

 

Octavia is halfway hanging out of the passenger side window, laughing raucously, as if it were the funniest thing in the world. So maybe her roommate was a little drunk. Clarke watches for a moment as she is apparently pulled back in by a sober and considerate boyfriend, who pokes his head out, too. He smiles at her, with his kind eyes. Such a gentle, chivalrous giant. Grabbing her bag, she reaches in the window to ruffle O’s hair and climbs in the backseat, trying her best to focus on lo mien and peking duck. At least it was the weekend.


End file.
